True Love Always
by attentionxreader
Summary: Lucas/Peyton one shot, roughly based on what happens in the show.


No-one understood her like he did.

To everyone else, her artwork was a joke, ridiculed on a daily basis by passing people who would scoff and tut at the dark images portraying how she saw herself, in swooping, black-inked lines set against a plain white canvas background. She would ignore them, continue with the scratching of her pen nib against the hard paper, taking her anger out creatively with the pen on paper, rather than on their heads.

They were all idiots anyway, her classmates. They were so up their own asses to take the time to get to know her as a person, rather than a stereotype or a piece on the side. She was ignored daily, but it didn't bother her in the slightest. She didn't _want_ them to know her, because she didn't want to know them. She already knew about them, though, thanks to their ever increasing popularity levels and decreasing IQ levels. Where they were popular, she was smart; smart enough not to bother with them.

Art was an escape for her, in the form of lucid drawings and paintings. Her art always told a story: the story of a teenager suffering through the hell of high school; the story of a girl struggling to find her place in the world; the story of a girl dealing with heartbreak and loss. Her drawings revealed a side of her that no-one but herself saw. It was what she saw when she looked in the mirror every morning, and it was something she despised. By drawing those fears and hates out, she expected them to vanish and for her to start loving herself again, but it never seemed to happen.

That's what he had told her to do.

_Love yourself, and then I'll love you._

He had told her that upon leaving Tree Hill last year, venturing out into the world to make a living for himself. No number in which to reach him was left behind, only memories that were painful to leaf through. Drawings of him (a shadow, a faceless outline) adorned her blood-red walls, amongst the various other paintings, baring the same thing: _People always leave_.

Because, in truth, people always _do_ leave. As soon as she lets someone in, they either pick up their bags and leave her, or they die. Simple as.She didn't expect him to leave, of all people she thought he was the closest to her. They had a connection, they shared things she'd never shared with another. They were in love... People always spoke of their love as being so beautiful, so strong.

"_True love always_" was their motto, their thing.

But that all fell apart right in front of her, crumbling into a million pieces that would be impossible to pick up and mend back to what it once was. The spark between them had faded and died, so had his interest for her. So he was running away - from her, from life, from his fears and real dreams - retreating to some other city in some other state, where he would meet another girl he felt he clicked with, and forget all about her. She hadn't forgotten about him. Not a day went by when he wouldn't cross her mind, and she would hate that.

Being reminded of him always saddened her and only brought her right back to square one. One memory that seemed to haunt her was the day he left for good, with no tear-filled goodbye, complete with grasping hugs and _I love you_'s. It was nothing like that, nothing how she had wanted it to be.

"I'm leaving," he said as he set down the black ink-scribbled drawing on her bed sheets.

"What?" she asked in disbelief, lifting her head to him and sitting up on her bed.

"I, uh, I got a scholarship... It's in New York."

"You did? W-why didn't you tell me?" She stood and made to embrace him.

He took a step back. "I couldn't tell you."

"What? Why? I thought that's how this works... Y'know, we're honest with each other and stuff... right?" She smiled softly and placed her hands on his hips.

He shook his head and smiled sadly.

"You're leaving me, aren't you? That's what this is about. Me."

"No, I--"

"No, don't. It is. It's about what I've done, isn't it? It's because you're sick of having to tell me I'm so perfect, and me not believing you, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"Please-- I wouldn't put it that way, exactly..."

"Well, how would you put it?" She folded her arms across her chest and waited for his reply.

"I'd put it as, I'm leaving Tree Hill for a scholarship and you can't come with me since you're going to that shitty art school."

"_'Shitty art school'_? Do you even _hear_ yourself right now?"

"Look, I don't want to fight. I just... Listen, I just don't love you anymore."

"Please," she scoffed. "You can't just decide you don't love someone anymore! It doesn't work like that. You certainly weren't saying that last night, that's for sure…"

"Look, I don't want to hurt you--"

"Oh? And you haven't already done that?"

"Nobody's perfect..."

"Yeah, no shit."

"What is wrong with you?"

"With _me_? What's wrong with _you_?"

"I'm out of here," he said bluntly, walking out her bedroom door.

"Go ahead, leave me just like everybody else I've ever loved has."

She quickly crossed the room to her endless collection of vinyl albums, most of them of high value, and quickly thumbed through them. She pulled out three or four and rushed to her window.

"Hey, asshole! You forgot your crappy records!" she pulled each of the vinyl records from the comfort of the cardboard pocket they were kept in, and smashed them on the window frame, tossing the pieces out onto the street. "I hated them, all of them."

She put down the pen and turned on her webcam, settling herself in front of the computer. She really wasn't in the mood for posting a video podcast today, but there was always that comfort in knowing that she had people outside of real life. Granted, most of them were likely fifty-year-old men, drooling and gaping, but she knew there was at least a small percentage of people who watched her and related to her. She hoped there was, anyway.

A new window popped up on her screen, baring an IM from an unknown screen-name.

_'I've missed you,' _the message read.

She let her brow knot in the form of a frown and sat up a little straighter in her chair, leaning towards the keyboard and resting her fingers lightly on the keys. She pressed down on the letter-printed buttons and clicked "Send" in the Instant Message window.

_'__Who are you?' _her message said as it popped up just under the received one.

Nothing happened for a few minutes or so, and she made to hit the "Close Window" button, but just then the window flashed and a reply appeared under her posed question.

_'__I'm back. Meet me at the River Court. 8PM,' _was all it said.

Being the sceptic that she was, she hesitated and drew in her breath shakily before closing the window and signing out. But she wasn't just sceptical… she was also curious. She reached behind her and snatched her leather jacket up from her bed, pulling it on and getting up from her chair. She quickly grabbed her cell phone and stuffed it into the pocket of her jacket, and crossed her bedroom towards the door.

Could it be who she thought it would be?

Sitting in the River Court just made all the memories of high school flood back to her. Most of them weren't bad memories, they were memories that made her smile and made her heart sink at the same time. High school had been hell, naturally, but it had also been some of the best days of her life.

She had been on the cheerleading squad - although she was the least cheery person in the whole of Tree Hill - and had made some of the best friends she could ever ask for. But with that happiness came sadness, as all her friends had moved to different states and different colleges, leaving behind only the memories that she would cling onto desperately, hoping that she would, one day, be reunited with those people.

Hopefully, this was going to be some sort of a reunion - a anonymous one at that.

She glanced at her cell phone, sitting on top of the park bench beside her. The screen read 7:54PM - only six more minutes and she would either be reunited with a mysterious old friend, or raped by a stalker. She pushed her cell back into her pocket and hugged her knees close to her chest, resting her head on her arms.

The more she tried to guess who it could be who had contacted her, the more nervous she began to feel. She thought it might be him - it was a possibility, anyway - but she just wasn't sure enough to say for certain. After all, it had been near four years since he had left.

Turned out, he'd got a scholarship at some college for literature and had, apparently, scored a book deal with some publishing company. All of this was word-of-mouth around Tree Hill, so it was most likely not all entirely true. Even if it wasn't all true, she couldn't deny that she wasn't proud of him. He'd managed to do something he was so passionate about, had been so passionate about since the day they had met. She admired him for that.

She, on the other hand, had only managed to get her artwork published a few times, in various magazines and at a few small art shows. Some people liked it, others just didn't get it. She expected that - for some people, it made sense, and for others, it was just a load of garbage. Still, she was making a decent living, and that's all that really mattered to her. As long as she had food in the cupboards and a roof over her head, she was content.

Her thoughts were disrupted as she turned her head to see a figure walking towards her. She stood up instantly, a spark of nerves shooting up and down her spinal cord and making her body tense up. As the figure drew closer, the features became more apparent: a tangled mop of sandy-blonde hair; dense, brooding features. Her gut feeling had been right - it was him.

He walked into the pool of light and she was able to see him clearly, for the first time in four years. He hadn't changed much - his eyes still had that same sparkle, the sparkle that had captivated her and drawn her in.

"Lucas...," she whispered, audible enough for him to hear.

"Peyton," he said softly, as he let his lips curl into a small smile and held her gaze with his eyes.

"Why are you back? W-what are you doing here?" she questioned, her voice not raising above a whisper.

"I came back for you. I- I missed you."

"Luke, it's been four years. You've got a great career ahead of you in New York, and you come back to Tree Hill? There's nothing for you here."

"There is. There's you."

Peyton scoffed lightly and shook her head. "You shouldn't have come back for me. I'm still the same person, incapable of loving myself and living off whatever my so-called art can make me. Lucas, my art doesn't matter."

"Your art does matter, it's what got me here."

He inched forward, wanting to be closer to her, and raised his hand to her face, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. Her face softened and she let herself smile softly at his gesture. There and then she realised why he had come back.

_True love always_.


End file.
